


To Perish Or Flourish

by allineedisaquill



Series: PatCap Prompts [6]
Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29141181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allineedisaquill/pseuds/allineedisaquill
Summary: They always find each other when the past becomes too much.For my PatCap prompt series. Prompt:“There are many ways to perish, orto flourish.How old pain, for example, canstall us at thethreshold of function.Memory: a golden bowl, or abasement without light.”
Relationships: Pat Butcher/The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019)
Series: PatCap Prompts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087646
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	To Perish Or Flourish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [p_ea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_ea/gifts).



> I'm taking prompts over on my Tumblr (patcaps) so send one in and I might just write it!

They always find each other when the past becomes too much.

Sometimes Pat sits alone in the library, the cushioned window seat giving home to his woes. If the books in the room could talk, he doesn’t doubt they’d have many stories to tell, his troubles only the most recent of them. His loneliness is often short-lived, however, because the Captain’s hand soon finds his and they stare out of the window together.

It’s always easier together.

Sometimes the Captain takes himself on a walk. It’s always under a pretense, the guise of looking busy, but Pat knows when it’s in fact the act of trying to put space between himself and his problems. It’s the same reason he runs, always trying to stay ahead of the rising tide. Those days, Pat makes his excuses and follows, and the lake always looks much lovelier when they make a lap of it arm-in-arm.

Then there are days where the truth only leaks out once they’re alone and facing one another, safe in the comfort and privacy of the Captain’s room.

“What’s up?” Pat asks softly, and lying on their sides the way they are, the Captain’s hair falls slightly out of place. Pat brushes it back with careful fingers, concerned for the far-away look in the Captain’s eyes and the deep line between them both. “I can tell there’s something.”

The Captain’s mouth lifts at one side; Pat can _ always _ tell. “Nothing gets by you.”

“Nope,” Pat agrees, and his smile could rival the glow of the sun.

There used to be an urge to hide, deflect, keep his cards to his chest. Sometimes the urge still rears its head for the Captain, but more often than not, it’s no longer a concern when it comes to the other man. He’s free to speak as candidly as he wishes, to open up the depths of himself and welcome Pat inside - and in the darkest corners where cobwebs grow, where battered memories go to fester, Pat plants seeds and waters them until they bloom.

Even for ghosts, new things can grow from the old.

“It’s just the usual,” the Captain admits quietly. “Thinking of my life.” It’s so often the way of it, the thing that plagues them the most. They’ve all felt the pull of the memories, fallen down the slippery slope to the what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Every choice they’ve ever made has been turned over a thousand times in their heads with nothing but time to occupy them. Even for the strongest it can be too much, and recalling their living days is to always walk a fine line between happy and sad. There’s rarely one without the other.

Pat knows it all too well. There have been many days and nights where he’s found himself in the Captain’s sturdy embrace, tears on his cheeks and memories of his son on his tongue. Those days he feels like a shell of himself, but he’s always grateful when the Captain kisses him gently and calls off the evening’s club until the next day. Those days, the Captain stays with him, regales him with war stories and traces his arm with his fingertips until Pat falls asleep.

Pat’s face shifts in sympathy and he draws the Captain to him with a soft tut. His lips find the Captain’s temple and he feels the older man relax against him with a weary sigh. “You should have said earlier,” Pat tells him, but there’s no accusation in his tone, only patient love. “Is it anything specific? You don’t have to say.” Even now, he always gives the option to say nothing, to keep a secret if he isn’t ready to part with it. 

They have time to learn each other’s ins and outs. He doesn’t need to push.

“Not really,” the Captain says, and it’s the truth. Perhaps it’s not always, not when he’s reliving a particular day or moment or feeling, but right now it’s just an amalgamation of things. He’s poked at old wounds to see if they still hurt when he’s all too aware that they always do.

Pat knows from the Captain’s minimal replies that he doesn’t intend to share much more than he’s already given, but when he feels the Captain shuffle closer still and tighten his hold around Pat’s waist, he recognises the silent request. So more kisses fall onto his hair and forehead like gentle rain and Pat’s palm washes warmly over his shoulder blades and spine.

It hurts for a moment and they know it will hurt again, the grief they carry never something they can bury for good, but the difference is when they choose each other despite it all - the tonic to the unforgiving, the restless, the bruised. When their pain resurfaces, when it fills them up, they know the ways to pull the plug and let it drain away.


End file.
